


Bad Math

by BluSkates



Series: Six Kinds of Love is a fantastic read [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Human Trafficking, M/M, Six Signs of Love AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 19:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12372186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluSkates/pseuds/BluSkates
Summary: Back story of how Matiev and Isaak managed to get the two Yuris in their home.  Also explains a little more of their relationship dynamic and offers insight into Viktor's relationship with these two pieces of human garbage.  Possibility of the end of slavery is discussed.





	Bad Math

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frilly_Axolotl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frilly_Axolotl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Six Kinds of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9388523) by [Frilly_Axolotl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frilly_Axolotl/pseuds/Frilly_Axolotl). 



Matiev was always good at math. Sum and figures spoke to him, percentages and variables danced for him. It was personal finances that gave him trouble. Matiev was never good at applying math to himself. When he was little his mother would often say, “if Matti has a ruble in his pocket he has five ways to spend it!” She would laugh with her sisters at the table at her little son. He would laugh as well. There was always more money to charm out of the women. More candy he could buy, games he could play. It wasn’t a worry. When he ran out, he would just charm more.

Then the well went dry. His mother couldn’t pay off gambling debts, his mother couldn’t cover his rent, his mother couldn’t pay for the items that he needed to keep the love of his life with him. Matiev graduated college, with a degree in accounting, with a demanding boyfriend, and with a mountain of debt.

That’s when Matiev learned to juggle. Matiev was good at juggling. It started small. He had been hired by the senior Nikiforov, the junior still in college himself...for literature of all things. Matiev worked in a team of young men counting cash coming in from the various, slightly illegal endeavours. He was quick to work and diligent in his hours. His appearance was pleasing and his manners, while not engaging, didn’t offend. Matiev was promoted quickly.

Alone in a cash office he was responsible for accounting the income of all the gentlemen coming in with bags. Each night, for some reason accounting was a night job in this organization, there would be a small army of men who would come in, dump a bag of cash on the wooden table, and Matiev was responsible for cataloging the intake as well as documenting the amount.

Matiev soon realized that there was a pattern to each man’s amount. Smaller amounts happened in the middle of the month. He developed a program for documenting the money and predicting a spike in profit. The bosses loved it when he showed them what he had done and how they could improve collection.

Soon he was moved up and out of the counting rooms entirely. He had an office, wore suits, worked during the daytime. His boyfriend insisted they rent a very posh house in a fashionable district. Suddenly, they needed a nicer car, better kitchen products, finer clothing. Matiev begun to miss the starved hollowed out look the counting girls would give him as he passed by. They were so grateful for a simple kindness. They would cry over the occasional orange, or a candy bars he handed out. His life went from simple gratitude to an unyielding demand.

Isaak was never satisfied. It extended into their bedroom and Matiev found himself quickly exhausted, hurt, and frustrated. He couldn’t walk into work hoping that he wouldn’t bleed through his trousers… not when those costs a couple hundred dollars. It wasn’t that Isaak was abusive towards him. Isaak was just overly amorous. They would have to get a slave. But that was an expense he couldn’t juggle.

The problem was it was just too damned easy. All he had to do was input the wrong data, take what he wanted, then backlog his entries to show little to no deviation in the amounts. Any missing money would be blamed on the counting girls, or the bag men. No one would suspect Matiev.

It was a simple process. Monday mornings the bags were dropped off in the counting rooms. The men turned in their sheets to the guys down stairs, the money was handed to the girls, who had to strip down to their underwear and run the paper through machines for counting. The machines were checked and recalibrated weekly. Everything screamed “you can’t steal from us”...unless you were just really good at math.

And Matiev was really good at math.

+++

The night they brought Chris home, Matiev thought he had never seen Isaak happier. The big childish grin playing over his face, the way his tongue would dart out to lick his lips, the chubby hands rubbing together. They sat in the front seat while the little blonde slave, just barely over 18 sat subdued and trussed in the back. A blindfold over his eyes, ball gag in his mouth, tight black underwear and an open collared shirt were the only things he came with. But they were more than Isaak and Matiev would need.

“I can’t believe you did this for me.” Isaak leaned over to press a kiss into Matiev’s cheek. Matiev glanced off the road for a moment and took in his husband’s face. The love, admiration, appreciation were written across it plainly.

Finally, I get can some damned rest. His eyes went back to the road and quickly flicked to the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of the man in the backseat. “I hope you enjoy yourself, honey.”

“And he’s just for me. You are too much sometimes.” Isaak babbled happily all the way home.

The auction house had been a nightmare. The little child they had purchased came from a street dealer and died pretty quickly. Matiev sometimes pretended he could hear her in the house, but Isaak knew that was just the result of all those late night paranormal shows.

In the house, Isaak’s bubbly demeanour changed into the savage dominant sadist that Matiev knew lurked behind the immature face, still hanging onto the baby fat even in his thirties. Chris was lead upstairs, muffled cries trying to escape around the gag.

“You coming?” Isaak stood at the top of the stairs.

Matiev looked from his husband and their latest toy to the computer perched on the table in the dining room. “I’ve got some work to finish… someone has to keep us in this luxury.”

“You take such good care of me.” Isaak smiled deeply.

Matiev blew him a kiss from the bottom of the stairs, “Have fun.”

He walked into the dining room, situated directly underneath their bedroom. Soon the sounds of agony, torture, and Isaak’s pleasure (which only came in the form of pain for others) were snaking down the walls. He put on the Hamilton soundtrack and plugged in his headphones. Even with the sound all the way he could still make out the pleas for mercy and the anguished cries as whatever Isaak was doing took a turn for the worse… or better in Isaak’s view.

Soon the accounts in Nikiforov’s lines were all back to normal. Nikiforov wasn’t the first set of books that Matiev had cooked, but he figured the old man, still playing indulgent father to his foolish son, would never be bothered by small sums.

+++

Dear reader - the government has funds go missing all the time. Large amounts of money get misplaced, misspent, or misappropriated. Money, when it’s entirely electronic, is easily vanished. Governments know this. Large corporations know this. There is an acceptable margin for loss in all of the largest organizations…except one.

Crime. Drug dealers will notice if nickles go missing. Gun runners notice if a single column in a twenty four page line item account is wrong. Slavers will squabble over a penny. Nikiforov’s fortune was amassed by working indirectly with all three industries.

He noticed.

It was three months after they had purchased Chris that they were first invited to the Nikiforov estate. It was one of the old abbey’s that the monks had lived in for centuries saved from demolition under the old new regime put in place after the revolution and sold off under the new old regime in place now. They brought Chris. It was a foolish decision, some people brought slaves, but none had been treated as badly as Chris and it showed.

Matiev saw the looks of disgust on the faces of the other guests. He knew he could wash up, get expensive clothing, have a posh, expensive husband, and drag their raggedy slave around…but to these polished people with their trendy-thinned bodies he would never be more than the hired help, a clever little counter with aspirations to be kept in check.

“Matiev, I’m glad you could make it.” Nikiforov came over to them, followed by his boy. Viktor was about nineteen, tall, slender. He had a look of petulant disinterest, but Matiev could see how the ears perked up at conversations, the eyes would dart around to take in information. This boy was playing at something.

“I’m bored, Father.” Viktor pushed his empty wine glass onto the tray of a passing waiter. “I’d like to be allowed to leave.”

The elder Nikiforov huffed out his annoyance, “Fine Vitya. Go and play your video games.” The older man looked Chris over, the cheap suit they had bought for him hung limply at his thinning frame. “Take this one with you, it will serve as a reminder that you must rejoin us for dinner.”

Viktor rolled his eyes and grabbed Chris’ wrist. The momentary pause on Viktor’s body when Chris let out an involuntary hiss of pain was lost on the entire party...except Matiev. _What are you playing at? Slowly calculating the scene as entirely constructed he began to play a game of averages. What are the angles here?_

“My boy tells me you mislaid some of my money.” Nikiforov moved in closely. The room seemed to darken in this man’s shadow.

Matiev heard a gasp next to him. Isaak’s face had gone white. Light was dawning on them both. They were invited here to be an example in front of Nikiforov’s fine friends. Thieves are to be dealt with swiftly and justly.

“Mr. Nikiforov, sir…I knew nothing of this…” Isaak began sputtering next to him.

_Oh sure. Sell me out. You live in that house, drive that car, want all the best, need a slave… don’t ever ask where the sausage comes from, just assume it gets made…_

“Lower your voice.” Nikiforov’s tone was soft, pleasant, but there was something under it. A command that would be obeyed.

Matiev took Isaak’s hand and looked into his husband’s eyes. A small shake of his head told the bigger man to shut up.

“I’m keeping your toy. You can thank Viktor for that kindness. If I find you have taken any of my funds, or the funds of anyone at this party, I’ll come for your lives.” The imposing man stood back a little, a smile spread across his face. “Thank you for delivering the goods. Please help yourself to some coffee in the kitchen before you leave.”

And with that they were dismissed like embarrassed errand boys.

Isaak wailed like a prima donna the entire ride home. Stripped of his chance to move up in society and his favorite plaything, he was an inconsolable child for months.

They burnt through two more slaves from the street vendors before an opportunity, too good to pass up, crossed Matiev’s desk again. A drug lord in the northern districts died, leaving his account open and full. No one had paid any attention to it for three months. It was too easy. The money sat, electronically in an account under the guise of income generated by a coin-operated laundromat. The funds hadn’t moved, fluctuated, anything, in the months from the death. Either there had been a falling out of the gang, or, even better, the dealer had been killed by his own people for stealing the funds himself. And now they sat there. In a bank account in Smolensk.

It was a click away. A single click and his home would return to normal. His life would be back on track. Happy husband, happy life.

He went home that night, poured a large glass of wine and told Matiev that they would have to get dressed up tonight. “We’re going to the auction.”

Isaak’s face lit up like a child’s on Christmas.

+++

They were angels. Even Matiev had to admit it. A tall, slightly chubby Japanese man standing next to a small boned, fragile toe-headed boy.

“Two Yuris for the price of one!” The barker announced.

The audience laughed at the little joke. The boy on stage grimaced and moved closer to the Japanese man, who squinted at the lights. _You’ve no idea what’s going on, do you?_ Matiev looked over at Isaak who was enchanted and bumped his shoulder.

Isaak turned his face to see his husband. His face melted into a sublime ‘please, please for me’. Matiev could resist nothing. His hand went up to start the bidding. Ultimately they would win.

Backstage Matiev walked the ill lit corridor to pick up his prizes. He could hear the accented babble from the Japanese man to a guard.

“Please, you have to call the embassy…this boy, he’s my ward. We’re both Japanese citizens. You are making a mistake.”

Isaak scoffed, but Matiev pulled him back. “Sounds like the black haired one will do anything for that little boy.”

Isaak reflected for a few minutes, watching from a distance as the blond haired boy’s face held out hope that the older man would win. The green eyes turned to see Isaak and Matiev watching them. He put a shaking white hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“Yuuri you can stop trying now. They’re here.”

The brown eyes followed where the green had led and the taller man took in the sight of the two wolves licking their lips. He turned back to the smaller boy, and cupped his face to make sure he was looking right at him. “No matter what I won’t leave you. I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure you are safe. Okay?”

“This is going to be such fun!” Isaak squealed in delight.

+++

“Nikiforov is moving funds from China to Canada. He wants to do it via property.” The secretary on the other end sounded bored.

Matiev scrunched his forehead. “Property in Canada? Why?”

“Is that really any of your business?” She took a long drag off a cigarette. “Just do it. The funds will be in the account by close of midday, bury them in property in Canada until we tell you to liquidate.” She hung up.

Matiev thought it odd, but didn’t even notice. His life had been difficult since they acquired the two Yuris. Isaak had taken to online gambling, losing quite a bit of money each day. And his taste for the finer things had only grown more obscene. The house was sorely in need of repair and he was already on a second mortgage. On top of this the two boys had been more than the money he stole, they had to go deep into their savings for this. The most infuriating part, neither of them had even tasted the little blonde one.

_Property in Canada…_

The funds appeared after lunch and Matiev found himself gawking. Thirty million dollars… for property in Canada… _So Newfoundland? You want to buy all of Newfoundland?_

He began immediately to break the sum into small pieces, less noticeable for SEC trade committees. Pesky fucking American and their asshat neighbors. (Author has to point out she’s Canadian American… and my family is indigenous to Newfoundland… so…) At first it was easy, there were warehouses in many of the suburbs of Toronto that were vacant and would remain vacant. There was some land in the Yukon, and a series of factories, old canneries, in the maritimes. But eventually even with his resources and creativity there was a small amount left over. How easy would it be to buy a property, resell immediately, pocket the profit?

Very easy. Matiev worked for three weeks on this scam. A little skim here, a quick punch in of funds there and boom, he has a posh condo in Quebec. A week later he had the money. Run this deal three or four times, and soon that account was enough to fix their roof. A few weeks later, Nikiforov’s money had amassed into a nice pile.

Matiev wasn’t greedy. He just attracted greed. Isaak noticed the influx of cash and began spending more. Matiev began collecting more. And eventually it got sloppy.

+++

What he didn’t know was that the first phone call didn’t come from Nikiforov’s secretary. It came from a college friend of Viktor’s. Mila Babachieva was a brilliant doctor, and a long time friend of Viktor. She also did voices.

She hung up phone, “He took the bait.”

Viktor exhaled and sate back in the leather chair. “Thanks Mila.” He looked sad for a moment, “Do Lois from Family Guy and cheer me?”

“No. Tell me what this is about.” She crossed her arms and stretched her legs out in front of her.

Viktor kicked playfully at the toe of her bright red heels. “He’s got two. You saw what he did to Chris. I’m horrified for those men. And I think… I think one of them might be Yuri Plisetsky.”

Mila’s eyes went wide, “That little boy who skated?”

Viktor nodded.

“They aren’t supposed to catch and sell that young. It’s illegal.”

Viktor grimaced, “Mila, the slave industry in this country is shameful…the fact that we brought back slavery at all is outrageous. Shit next thing you know, Putin will just name himself Czar and have done with democracy.”

Mila ran a hand through her red locks, “We’ve never had that here. It was a dream. We like our tyrants too much.”

“In America…”

“Oh, not this again. ‘In America’ is all I’ve heard since I met you. ‘In America I could teach’, ‘In America I would marry a man’, ‘In America my brother and mother would be alive….’” She stopped short, the hurt on Viktor’s face was evident. “Viktor, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay…”

“No, I’m sorry. That was horrible.” Mila reached out a hand. “Come with me to a rally. We’ve got two members of parliament coming, and several of the local judges that have spoken out. Anton Karimozov is coming, he’s the judge that ruled to free the man taken from Chechnya.”

“You go. I’ll write a check. I’m a Nikiforov, you think they want me there?”

“You’re Viktor. That’s all I care about.” Her hand was still extended and he reached forward and held it.

“I hope this works.”

+++

Two weeks later he got the phone call to his office. It was Nikiforov’s son. “Matiev. I think we should talk. You have something of my father’s…”


End file.
